Happiness is a Warm Gun
by st.elmo-lover
Summary: And I tell him to take my anywhere he wants to go, because as long as I'm with him, nothing else matters. Happy/OC. AU
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This is my first Sons fic so if you think I'm getting the characters wrong let me know! I would really appreciate it!

**Summary:** And I tell him to take my anywhere he wants to go, because as long as I'm with him, nothing else matters.

By the time he gets back to the apartment I'm already balled up on the couch and feeling stupid for calling him. Hell, I'm feeling stupid for thinking a nightmare was real. When he takes his first steps towards me I realize he's a little bit out of breath which gives me the hint that he's just run up the three flights of stairs to get to his apartment. And I feel even worse. His expression is only wild and panicked for a few seconds before the muscles in his face relax and he gets this knowing look on his face. I know, at that moment, that he's realized I've only had a dream, another awful dream that my whacked out mind thought was real. His knowing look turns to one of understanding and I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

"Audrey," he starts, but I don't want him to finish the sentence. I'm too scared he's going to yell at me for being so stupid or tell me that he's tired of always having to run back here when I think I'm going to be murdered.

"Don't," I whisper to him. I try and make him understand with my eyes but he just shakes his head and takes a seat next to me on the couch. He rests his hand on my bent knee and gives it a light pat.

"Are you ok?"

It's the first thing he decides to ask and I'm glad. I don't want to talk about how this nightmare went or why on earth it got me so worked up.

"No," I dead-pan. He gives my knee another pat and then leans back into the cushions of the sofa. "I feel so stupid but it felt so real," I tell him the same thing for what seems like the thousandth time.

"Dr. Winslow said this would happen."

I wonder if his words are meant to sooth me, because it's not working.

"Post-traumatic stress syndrome. She said nightmares would be common for a while. You're still trying to recover from what happened. Your brain is trying to make sense of it all. That's why I didn't want to go out tonight. I thought something like this might happen."

"But I haven't had any nightmares in weeks!" I try and protest but my voice still seems so weak.

"It's not the weeks that count," he says as he turns to look at the grandfather clock by the entrance to the kitchen. He's probably counting how many hours he actually got to spend outside the apartment tonight. I try and push those thoughts away.

"Let's try and count in months from now on, ok? Maybe even years." He turns back to me and I can see how warn out he is. Suddenly, I'm struck with another kind of guilt, the guilt of being a burden to my big brother. How had he been the one to get stuck taking care of me? I could have gone to live with Aunt Caroline in California or Uncle Danny in Florida. Either place would have been great for my 'recovery' as Dr. Winslow liked to put it.

"How did you get stuck with me?" I asked quietly. I turn away from him a little and start picking at the hem of my pants. I don't want to look at his worn out expression or the way he's probably going to wipe a hand over his face and let out a sigh. And he does exactly that before I feel him shift towards me and throw an arm around my shoulders.

"I don't mind," he says and for a few seconds I wonder if he's gone crazy. "You're all I have now. And I'm all you have."

He could have done without the last part. The last thing I want to be reminded of is that I'm alone in the world with only an older brother to talk to about it. I don't want to be reminded of the fact that for the past two months I've woken up every morning having to realize over and over again that they're gone and aren't coming back. They aren't just on vacation this time. They aren't on a business trip. They're _gone_. I can't even bring myself to think the other word. Even after two months I just can't wrap my mind around the idea. According to Dr. Winslow, that's why I've been having nightmares. My brain is still trying to catch up with reality.

"I'm sorry," is all I can say. The phrase is so worn out by now. I've used it too much but there's really nothing else I can come up with. "You can go back out if you want. I'm just going to take another pill and try again."

I wiggle out from under his arm and start to get up from the couch but his voice stops me.

"I don't know, Audrey. I don't think it's such a good idea. I don't like the thought of you being here alone when you wake up screaming. I think it's easier for you when someone's here to calm you down."

I finish unfolding myself from the couch and turn back to look at him. I give him a little reassuring smile and shrug. "For once, just think about yourself," I tell him and I finish my walk to the guest room at the end of the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

"Order up."

I turn on my heel and make my way to the counter that separates the kitchen and the diner. I've got three hours left on my shift but it feels like I've been here for an eternity already. I'm still trying to get used to the long hours on my feet but this was one of the only jobs I could find in town that didn't require a college degree or a pole.

"Benny!" I try and say it loudly but it kind of comes out as a croak. I guess you can say I haven't really been here long enough to be able to yell at the cooks. Or maybe I'm just shy and stupid like everyone at the dinner says I am. "I said no tomato." He's making his way across the kitchen. His dirty white tennis shoes squeak as he waddles his way over on the linoleum floor.

Benny is usually the cook I end up working with and he's usually the one that makes me the most uncomfortable. He's loud, fat, boisterous and always speaking his mind. He's the kind of guy that has to voice every little mistake you make but if he makes one and you point it out, he's got to twist it back around on you so the mistake was your fault. In Benny's mind, Benny can do no wrong.

"Tell 'em ta pick it off." He's standing right in front of me but he's yelling at me like I'm across the room. It makes me want to flinch away from him but I had learned better during the first shift I had ever taken with Benny.

You don't shy away from Benny, or Benny just gets tougher on you.

"I can't tell 'em to pick it off, Benny. You know that's not how it works." I put my hands on the counter between us and try to give him my most stern stare. The only other girl in the diner that talks to me keeps telling me I have to be firm with him or he'll never lighten up. So far, it hasn't worked.

"Then you pick it off. See if I give a shit." He leans over the counter to laugh in my face. His breath smells like onions and stale beer. Lovely.

When he's got his back turned, I take a quick peek over my shoulder to see if the customers are watching. I don't really care if the girl that ordered this cheeseburger doesn't want tomato but the last thing I do want is a customer having an allergic reaction in the middle of the diner.

She was a snotty bitch when she ordered the damn thing anyway.

When I'm sure no one's watching, I lift the top bun off the cheeseburger and quickly grab the tomato. Hopefully she can't taste any tomato juice that has seeped out. I put the bun back on and make it look as natural as possible before I pick it up and turn around.

"Hey, Audrey." I try not to roll my eyes when I turn around. Bethany, Beth for short. She's the worst type of girl and I just so happen to be working tonight's shift with her. I don't turn around to look at her but I pause so she knows I'm listening. Otherwise she'll be screaming my name for the next five minutes.

"If you don't want that guy in your section, I'll take him."

I have no idea what she's talking about but if it involves a customer, there's no way in hell she's stealing one from me. I shoot her a look over my shoulder as my answer and continue on to my table. The girl that ordered the cheeseburger doesn't deserve a word from me so I just set the plate down in front of her and turn to look at the rest of my tables.

I know for sure when I see him. He's the only one that could have caught Bethany's attention. And it's hard not to let him get my attention, too. He's just sitting there, with this air of arrogance and carelessness. Of my two months in the small town of Sucrets, I had never seen anything like him. Sure, I'd seen plenty of his kind in Chicago where gangs and thugs were common, but Sucrets was a nice family place where thugs and gang members didn't exist.

As I approached him, I tried to take a deep breath. My mind was trying to show me memories from two months ago but I pushed them back as hard as I could. I couldn't let it get in the way of my job. Besides, I told myself, he's probably just a wanna-be gang member.

When I finally stopped in front of his booth and took another deep breath, the smell of leather assaulted my nose. It was such a distinct smell and it was so rare around here that I couldn't help but take another deep breath. My Uncle Andrew had worn leather all the time and the smell of it reminded me of good childhood memories.

The clearing of the stranger's throat brought me back to reality and I could feel a deep blush rising up onto my cheeks.

"R-right, what can I-I get you?" I hadn't stuttered since I was little. It had just been one of those freak things that happened every once in a while. It wasn't a family thing. No one else in my family had even had a problem when they were learning to talk. But me, I just had to be different.

"Cup of coffee." His eyes were dangerously dark, I decided. Almost so brown that if you didn't look close enough, you could mistake them for black. They didn't seem to have any depth in them either. I'd always heard people say that the eyes were the window to the soul. You were supposed to be able to see people's emotions or at least be able to guess what they were feeling. But with this stranger, it just wasn't true. His eyes seemed to almost be the opposite. His eyes looked right into everybody else's soul, whether they wanted him to see their soul or not.

"Cream and sugar?" I thanked my lucky stars that this time I didn't stutter but I didn't seem to be getting rid of my blush anytime soon either.

"No." His answer was curt and almost sour. I almost flinched back physically from the cold reply but caught myself just in time. I sent a small nod his way and started towards the counter.

"He scares you, I can tell." Beth is back and right on my heels as I make my way towards the coffee pot on the counter by the kitchen window. I should have known she wouldn't leave me alone about him.

"He's in my section. He's mine. I get his tip and I'll ring him up." My curt reply is hardly believable. It sounds week and washed out. These days it seems like I'll never be strong again, not after what happened. I can't even say a word that sounds strong, let alone a sentence.

"Fine."

When I look in her direction, she's flipping her pony-tail and sending a coy smile in the direction of my customer, like she thinks if he thinks she's pretty he might request her to be his waitress instead. I let my eyes drift towards him to see his reaction. He isn't even staring at her. In fact, he's staring at me and when I realize it my blush deepens again and I dump the pot of hot coffee all over my dress and white tennis shoes.

"Shit!" I scream, probably more loudly than I intended but it hurts like a mother. The fabric doesn't take away any of the pain the scalding liquid causes. It just makes it worse as the cotton starts to soak it up permanently. I squeeze my eyes closed and wait with baited breath for the searing pain to lessen and when it does, I crack one eye open. I can't even imagine what a klutz I look like right now.

Just as I expected, the whole diner is staring at me, some with raised eyebrows, some shaking their heads, and others looking at me with pity. I don't even dare take a look at the stranger in my section as I head towards the bathroom to clean myself.

"Well, I guess I'll make a new pot of coffee and take it over to him," Beth tells me as I pass her. She had that self satisfied look on her face and I realized that if she had worn that smile a year ago, when I had actually been a strong girl with a big attitude, I would have slapped it off her face. But this new me, this timid me, has no desire for a confrontation, no desire to stick up for herself. I can't even really glare at her.

When I finally get to the bathroom and lock the door, I let myself fall against the door with a deep sigh. I could probably ask myself how I got here or stare thoughtfully into my own eyes at the mirror to see how much I've changed but that's stupid and cliché. I don't need to look into my own eyes to know what's changed. I already know I have wrinkles on my face that shouldn't be there on a girl my age. I already know that a deep brown liquid is staining my bright orange dress and white apron.

I reach for the towel dispenser on my right, next to the sink, and drag a couple out to pat down any extra coffee on my dress. I don't have a second one to change into so I'm going to have to wear it for the next three hours. The only upside is that it's not pop and it's not making my whole dress stick to me.

When I finally get out of the bathroom, Beth is still trying to chat up my stranger who looks like he could give two shits less about what she has to say, but she's not giving up. She's actually leaning on the back of his booth, her breasts practically shoved into his face. I shake my head in disgust at her but don't say anything to let her know I'm out of the bathroom.

"I love your leather jacket," I hear her saying as I go back to the table with the girl and the cheeseburger.

"Everything alright for you guys?" I ask them as sweetly as I can. Even though she really didn't deserve any kind of good attitude I send her way, I really need the tip.

"I need another coke," the girl says snottily. "And try not to spill it."

That's exactly what I think about doing as I pick up her half full glass. I could just say I slipped or something. But I don't. Because I don't have the balls and I need this job. I can't keep letting Warren pay for everything. His money can only go towards so much and I know his apartment costs a fortune.

"Hey," I don't recognize the voice so I don't stop to see who it is. "Hey!" I hear again, louder this time. I can't help but stop this time and take a look around me. I can't leave a customer waiting if I want to get a good tip.

When my eyes fall on Beth, standing at the stranger's table, she's glaring at me with her hand on her hip. It's then I realize that it's the stranger calling me over and she's not happy about the fact that she can't seem to keep his attention.

I nearly trip and fall on my face as I make my way over to the table and my face goes red again. There's something about this guy that makes me clumsier than usual. It's probably his incredibly good looks and that deep, dark stare of his. But I try not to think about it too much.

"D-did you need s-something?" My stutter is back and I want to kick myself.

"A new cup of coffee. This one tastes like piss." His voice is deep and gravely. This is probably the longest sentence I've heard him utter. It makes me go weak in the knees.

"There must be something wrong with the coffee maker," Beth tries to explain herself but the stranger still looks like he's not listening. Beth just can't seem to catch a break. Or a hint.

"I'll make a new pot and get it over to you," I tell him slowly, taking a side long glance at Beth. Who screws up a pot of coffee? I mean, seriously!

It takes all of about five minutes for me to get it finished and I slowly and carefully set the steaming cup down in front of him. When it reaches the table safely I think about singing hallelujah. When I look up, I realize Beth is gone. I guess she could take a hint after all.

"Anything else?"

He's giving me a stare, a stare that says he's analyzing me from top to bottom, and I almost die right there.

"You're name," he says lowly.

So if I didn't almost die before, I'm definitely dying now. Or at least it feels like it.

I can't speak. I can barely open my mouth. It's in that moment that everything comes rushing back to me. It's probably because he reminds me so much of a gangster, probably because his deep voice just screams danger.

It just all comes back in one big tidal wave. The memories just wash over me.

The black masks. The low voices. The screams. The cool metal on my back. And then the complete and utter sense of pain, both physical and emotional.

In the present, my stomach is burning, and not from the coffee that just got spilled on it. The inside is burning, screaming at me.

And then I'm hyperventilating, my breaths are coming in quick, short gasps. I'm getting way too much oxygen for my own good but I can't help it. It's no longer just my stomach that is on fire but my lungs as well. I'm dying. I swear. But no, I'm not, because I know what dying feels like and it's not this. It's just not this.

He's staring at me. He's just _staring_ at me as I basically have a panic attack in front of him. And is that a malicious glint I see in his eyes? Is he enjoying this? No. No, I'm imagining this. I'm not in the right state of mind, not at all.

But he's still just staring at me. He's not panicking. He's not doing anything. He's just _sitting_ there, like nothing is happening. What is wrong with this guy? What's wrong with me? Why can't I just get it together? Why can't I just leave all of this behind me? Why can't I just start a new life with my brother like I so desperately want to?

Someone's sitting me down, sitting me in the same booth as the stranger. I can faintly hear someone tell me to calm down, to just calm down. But my breathing is too loud in my ears and my blood is rushing at the speed of light.

"Call her brother," I hear someone say loudly, as if they're screaming. Everyone else is panicking. I try not to look at them. They're just going to make me freak out more. And all the while those images are still rushing around my head, those feelings are still crushing me with their weight. And I still can't _breath_e. Hot tears rush down my checks and I clutch at my chest.

Please, I want to say, someone help me breathe!

"Audrey!" A familiar voice. Thank God!

"Audrey, I'm here! I'm here now. Calm down. It's going to be alright!" I'm being lifted into strong arms and then I'm looking up into familiar blue eyes. His blue eyes are surrounded by worry and suddenly I'm feeling sorry that I'm worrying my brother again and keeping him from work. Again.

"Why, Audrey?" He says to me later, after I've finally calmed down. "You know where he could have come from. You know why he could have been here. Why didn't you just walk away? He reminded you of them, didn't he? What if he is one? What have you done, Audrey?"

And I go into my second panic attack of the day.


	3. Chapter 3

I was on the verge of another panic attack. I could feel my heart quickening, threatening to beat out of my chest. Each breath I took stung my sides, like someone had stabbed me just between my ribs.

Noah had barely let me come into work. After my panic attack yesterday, he had dropped everything at work and rushed over to calm me down. I had ended up leaving my shift early, much to the dismay of my boss. But Noah had said later that he had explained things to him, or at least some things. Noah had told him I had been through a recent trauma and that posttraumatic stress sometimes causes things like that to happen.

When I had shown up to work today, my boss had been a little understanding but miffed nonetheless. He sat me down in his office in the back when I first came in and explained that it couldn't happen again. He didn't have enough waitresses on staff to call someone on such short notice for me.

I had thanked him and told him that it wouldn't happen again.

And yet here I was and it was about to.

The man from yesterday was back, sitting in the same booth he had sat in before. He wore the same simple leather jacket from yesterday with a white muscle t-shirt tucked below it. His baldhead almost shined in the light of the diner.

It wasn't so much about being afraid of him this time as being completely and utterly embarrassed. I had collapsed in his booth like some sort of epileptic. He was probably hoping I wouldn't be back to work anytime soon.

Now I was wishing I had stayed at him.

"Don't worry, sug."

I turn to look at Patsy who is watching me watch the customer from yesterday. Patsy was the first of all the waitresses to actually great me with some kindness. When I had shyly pointed that fact out to her she had said it was her Southern hospitality. Northerners, she explained to me, just didn't have any sense of kindness or decency. She went on to explain to me about her Southern upbringing and how her mother had even named her after a country singer. She had conveniently left out the part about how she had ended up here in the state of Washington so far from home. But I hadn't asked, either. No one knew better than me that if she didn't want to share, than it probably wasn't a great story.

"I can take him if you need me, too," she continued before bumping her shoulder with mine. I tried not to flinch away from the gesture that I only knew was meant as a sign of comfort.

"My tables are pretty busy but if you cover one of mine, I'll cover him." She nodded towards the stranger again and I looked back at him.

He was staring right at me with those almost black eyes. I wondered if he knew how unnerving they are. He probably did and he probably used it to his advantage.

"I'll take him," I whisper to her as I lean on the counter to catch my breath. "I have to face my fears sometime."

"Well, you just remember what the boss man said," she said. "If you have another panic attack your ass is out of here and I'd hate to see you go." She rests her hand on my shoulder and gives a little squeeze before she rushes off towards one of her tables.

I'm left staring back at the stranger, as if we're in some sort of staring contest. Surprisingly enough, I get lost in his dark pools, even from this far away. His eyes really are like a dark pool of water and I can't find an edge to swim to.

He breaks eye contact and I almost feel as if someone has slapped me back to reality. He's reaching into his jacket pocket and before I even think about panicking, he pulls a cell phone out of his jacket pocket.

I shake my head at myself in exasperation and turn around. Something tells me he's just going to want the same exact thing as yesterday. A cup of coffee, black.

So I grab the coffee pot and slowly make my way over. I don't want him to think I'm ease dropping, but at the same time, I want to pour his coffee while he's still on the phone so I don't have to speak to him. When I get to his booth, the only thing I notice is that his voice is still as deep as I remembered it.

If I wasn't so skittish and the circumstances were different, I would have even though his voice was a turn on. But now, these days, there's no one that looks like him that could actually turn me on. Actually, no one had really managed to do that since the incident.

Just as I've started to fill up his cup, he snaps the phone closed and reaches down to put it back in his pocket.

I can hear his voice mumble something, but I ignore it, figuring it's a last mumble to something the other person had said on the phone. When I hear it again, louder this time, I let me head slowly turn up to meet his eyes.

"You're name."

It's not a question. It's a demand. And unlike yesterday, I don't find myself immediately going into a panic attack or having flashbacks. Instead, I'm just sucked further into his dark pools. The chocolate is surrounding me, almost like a comforting blanket, which is odd because his eyes are the least comforting pair I've ever seen in my entire life. And that's saying a lot.

"Audrey," I whisper.

He leans back, as if to contemplate the meaning of my name, and gives me a once over. Just a quick sweep of the eyes from my feet to my head and then back down again. Nothing sexual about it, but it does scream predator.

"Audrey," he says, and the way he says it almost makes it sound like a brand new name I've never heard before. "I'm Happy."

I can't crack a smile. Sure, the name, or nickname, is odd; because this guy definitely isn't happy in any sense, but my body is starting to enter fight or flight and I know at any minute I'm going to have to bolt to avoid another panic attack.

"You scared of me, Audrey?"

I don't know how to answer. I really don't. Even if I did know how to answer I probably still couldn't. My mouth feels like it's full of cotton. I need a drink of water, or something. It feels like I've been walking in the desert for days.

"Audrey," he says my name again and I look down at the table quickly before I can get caught in his eyes again.

"No," I almost spit, before I scurry away.


End file.
